


While We Live

by kateandbarrel



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-29
Updated: 2008-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateandbarrel/pseuds/kateandbarrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU fic for Conversion. What happened if they never found a cure for John's transformation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	While We Live

**Author's Note:**

> "Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." - Norman Cousins

He ignored Elizabeth as she spoke, hunkered in a corner, half-asleep. The lights were turned low, and she had to strain her eyes to see him there, a slightly lighter shape than the shadows that surrounded him.

"Rodney found some ruins," Elizabeth spoke animatedly, walking back and forth in front of the bars of the cell. "An old Lantean outpost. He and Radek have spent a day and a night without sleep there, trying to resurrect a computer station they found. It seems to have been damaged in a flood, but they have high hopes for its recovery. There might be something useful on it."

She turned towards him and smiled briefly, uneasily. "Speaking of Rodney, he's due to check in any minute now. I'd better get back to the control room." The darkened form's only response was to breathe slowly, giving no indication that he was even aware of her presence.

 

She left without waiting for a reply, knowing there would be none.

***

She went there every night. At least, every night that there wasn't some major crisis going on that required her full attention.

At first Elizabeth had gone to assure him - if there was anything left of John to understand her - that they were still working on curing him. That they would never give up on him; that they would find a way. Eventually, it became more than that.

After the third week of talking to him, of him staring back disinterestedly with those inhuman eyes, she grew tired of reiterating the same platitudes. She stopped in the middle of her sentence - the one about how the latest testing with the retrovirus had failed, but the medical team was already into the next round - and, looking at the barely recognizable features of John Sheppard underneath a layer of Wraith skin, sighed and stopped herself. "What's it matter?" she muttered. "You can't understand what I'm saying anyway."

Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt over the defeat in her own voice. She tried to continue on with what she was saying, but the words stuck in her throat. Now that she'd admitted it, not only to herself, but to the world by saying the words aloud and hearing them echo off the walls and come back to her own ears, it seemed futile to continue on pretending.

"I'm sorry, John," she whispered, sitting down on the small plastic chair they'd set up in the room. She wasn't sure what she was more sorry for; for the fact that she gave up, even for just a minute, or the fact that she admitted it.

The next day she returned again, partly because everyone expected her to go - knowing she would visit gave them an excuse not to ("Tell the colonel I said hi.") - and partly because it had become ingrained as a matter of habit. Without realizing what she was doing, she found herself in front of his cell again. She sat in the chair, and after a moment's hesitation and a steadying breath, she started to talk. But instead of the usual spiel, she spoke of the day's events, leaving out the sugar coating and being honest with John, and with herself.

***

The evening visits simultaneously became both a source of therapy and a source of pain. Elizabeth would talk about her frustrations and the difficulties of her position, of the latest activities of his team, of anything of interest that happened in Atlantis, using his silence as an excuse to talk to the air until every last thought in her head had been spoken.

But even as it felt good to rant, it felt empty. There were no jokes about Rodney's latest annoying endeavor, no helpful insights from his military mind, no warm smiles in answer to her own. But try as she might, she couldn't keep from leaving pauses in her speech to allow for these things. She felt the absence of his humanity most profoundly when she treated him as if he had any.

But it, like everything else, became habit.

***

"So, I wanted to run an idea by you," she paused briefly, her eyes meeting his. "We've been catching the animals we feed you offworld. It's somewhat impractical, since it uses up valuable manhours to hunt and lay traps, as Colonel Caldwell is so fond of reminding me. I'm thinking we could expand the Athosians' livestock. They don't have much on the mainland; enough to feed themselves. But we could set up a permanent breeding ground of animals for your consumption." Elizabeth grinned, pleased with herself for her innovation. "With a source of food so close, it would save considerable time and resources."

She stepped close to the bars of the cell, crouching down to be on eye level with the slumped over form. "What do you think, John?" There was no reply, apart from the sound of his shallow breaths. Elizabeth inclined her head. "I thought you'd approve. I'm going to propose it in the briefing tomorrow."

***

Elizabeth's suggestion wasn't as well-received as she had anticipated it would be. After she finished explaining her idea, she was met with silent stares from her senior staff. Everyone looked in Teyla's direction, who took a steadying breath and spoke as if she had prepared for the moment.

"Dr Weir," she began slowly, "we would like to speak to you about the -" Teyla paused, choosing her next word carefully - " _situation_ with Sheppard."

Outwardly, Elizabeth only raised an eyebrow, but she felt a twinge start up in her chest at Teyla's foreboding words.

"It's been five months. We believe it is time to accept the truth of the matter." Teyla's meaning was implicit.

"But the medical team -"

"Hasn't made any progress in nine weeks," Carson interrupted. "And neither have the scientists on Earth, who have been working round the clock since Sheppard was infected."

"So that's it? We just give up?" Elizabeth felt betrayal on John's behalf. His colleagues, his friends, had already grieved and said goodbye while he still lived and breathed.

"He's not going to live much longer," Carson spoke softly, apologetically. "He's been growing more and more listless lately. His neurological responses aren't as acute as they once were. He's wasting away." He allowed a moment for the information to sink in, then answered the question he saw forming in her eyes. "The animals we feed him, they don't sustain him the way humans would. But of course, we can't feed him humans."

A few sets of eyes flicked in Elizabeth's direction, as if expecting her to protest. She stayed silent.

"We think it's best if we let Sheppard go ourselves, before his body fails as we watch," Teyla said gently, but firmly. The rest of the people assembled at the table nodded mutely.

Elizabeth could only swallow hard as the realization of their statements hit her fully. They couldn't fix him. John was going to die, and they wanted to help him get there sooner.

A small part of her mind accepted the rationality of this, was even appreciative of the show of human mercy they wished to bestow as a final act on the disfigured shell of their former friend.

But mostly, all she could think of was that she'd failed him.

"You're right, of course," her voice was just above a whisper. The twinge in her chest had expanded into a heavy weight pressing on to her entire upper body, making it difficult to breathe. She hardly noticed the relieved glances exchanged across the table. "Tomorrow. We'll proceed tomorrow."

Somebody said they were sorry, but Elizabeth was too busy trying to imagine her life without John Sheppard in it, in one form or another, to pay attention.

***

Elizabeth laid awake for hours, staring at the shadows move across her ceiling, mind reeling between the rational and irrational. She felt the loss of a good man, one she'd grown unexpectedly close to. She felt an impending feeling of emptiness. She also knew that in reality, she had lost him long ago. She had watched the last of his humanity fade from his yellow eyes as he held her to the wall, crushing her throat. John Sheppard was gone.

She knew she couldn't sleep, so instead she got dressed and left her quarters. Elizabeth thought superficially that she could wander to clear her mind, but she strode through the corridors with a purpose she couldn't deny. Before long, she found herself in the infirmary.

Sitting on Carson's desk, in a small box, she found the "solution" they had discussed earlier. He'd created it weeks ago. He assured her it would be quick and painless. Elizabeth picked up the box. It was unmarked, but she knew without looking at the contents that it was the right one. She took it with her as she left the infirmary, heading deeper into the city, where the cells were.

He was in the place he always was: slumped over in the back corner, facing the door. His eyes were closed; he was asleep. His breaths were deep and spaced far apart. She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a few moments before opening the cell door.

John's eyes snapped open at the noise. He watched her as she stepped carefully inside the cell, but he made no other movements. He'd ceased trying to attack anyone who entered the cage some time ago. Elizabeth crossed the distance between them, and sat down on the floor only inches away. Even though he lacked the physical energy to attack, he could still lift his arm and feed. Elizabeth pushed away her instinct's urging to put more distance between them when, after a moment, he still made no attempts to move.

She examined his features, not having seen him this close in quite a while. His face and head were mostly overtaken by the rough, greyish blue skin. Small tufts of brown hair grew out of a few creases in the skin over his head, like patches of weeds in a sidewalk. His eyes were distinctly animal, and Elizabeth noted with a detached fascination the way his elongated pupils dilated when he blinked. Up close, he looked more like John Sheppard than he did from a distance. The features of his face were still there, hidden under alien skin.

Placing the box on the floor, Elizabeth removed the contents: a syringe and a small glass bottle of poison. Picking up the needle, she carefully filled it with the liquid in the bottle. The needle was larger than a normal one, in order to penetrate his tough skin. She held it in her hands, breathing shakily as she thought of the ramifications of her actions.

 _You're about to kill John._

The voice rang through her head like a siren, an accusatory sound that reverberated in her mind. She entertained a brief wild thought of letting him go through the stargate; of giving him a chance to live. But she knew to do that would endanger lives - humans in the galaxy, as well as everyone on Atlantis, should he ever be discovered by the Wraith.

She watched his face for any last minute sign of the man he used to be, anything to keep her from doing what she was about to do. But she saw nothing. Bringing her fingers up slowly, Elizabeth reached forward. She held her hand in front of his lips. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the rush of air from his lungs. He didn't look at her hand, but continued to stare at her face. Moving closer, she traced her fingers across his lips, her soft skin catching on the roughness of his. She wanted to say she was sorry, again, but the words felt too empty. Instead, she brought her lips down to his, touching them together softly. His lips were warm, and when she closed her eyes, Elizabeth found it easy to envision John's true face again, and to imagine it was that which she was kissing, and not a monster. After a moment, she pulled away. John remained still.

She wanted to believe his lack of movement was a small part of John coming through, wanting to accept the fate she held in her hand. But as she brought the needle to his arm, his expression never changed. Elizabeth's throat tightened, but she finally accepted the truth. A heavy heat spread through her chest as his eyelids slowly dropped.

John Sheppard was gone.


End file.
